


Bang Bang

by sunshinestealer



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:17:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3434966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinestealer/pseuds/sunshinestealer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A take on Eridan and Feferi's sordid relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_I was five and he was six  
_ _We rode on horses made of sticks_

* * *

 

Going up to the surface was always a strange experience. The breathless moments before your gills adapted to breathing oxygen from the air rather than the ocean that was usually surrounding you. Having to stand upright, with no water for buoyancy. You were a little bit wobbly on your feet, but Eridan was there, holding your hand like a distinguished gentle-troll. 

It was only fair that you spent some time playing with him around his hive, after you’d insisted on him swimming to yours so many times. Eridan, for reasons that only made sense to him, insisted upon living on land, to keep an eye on the land-dwellers he despised with every fibre of his being.  

You listened to his ranting as the two of you combed the beach of his island, throwing seaweed back into the waves after searching through it. He was on the lookout for any kind of litter that had been so carelessly tossed away by the ‘landlubbers’, a nautical affectation he had picked up during his FLARP sessions with Vriska, and his research into the ways of his ancestor. 

“It’s not _right_ ,” he hissed, gills flaring. You could tell, though, this was not due to any kind of environmental concern on Eridan’s behalf. It was yet another crime to pin on the lowerbloods, a way for Eridan to feel justified as his obsession with genocide swept up into a maelstrom inside of him. 

He had killed a small, beached cetacean lusus when he thought you weren’t looking, as it flopped around, caught in the plastic rings used on large packages of soda. As he kicked it back into the sea, his attitude towards you became darker. More needy. You had had to go inside for a feelings jam, as Eridan’s lusus sternly looked on.

You returned the sky-horse’s gaze, knowing that the creature despaired of the over-emotional, often violent little charge of his. Eridan never cried, at least, not in front of you — but in these angry episodes, he did occasionally let out a noise that sounded somewhere between a shriek and a sob, with desperate platitudes directed towards you. Even when your moirallegiance was stable, he wanted to hear that you would never leave him, and as it got worse, he asked the question more and more.

Of course, back when the two of you were happy together, Eridan was less likely to descend into a fit of anxiety in your presence. 

One day, when he had turned six, and you were five sweeps old, you spent an entire day on the island making sculptures out of driftwood. Walking around the island, over and over, returning to the site of your creation to add on a new set of sea shells, or a raggedy wig of seaweed.

Eridan’s creation had been a hoofbeast. Not an aquatic hoofbeast, like the ones you were used to keeping in your hive while they rehabilitated from an unfortunate mishap with a larger predator. This one was definitely designed to walk on land.

As you were helping to thread the mane and tail, Eridan regaled you with a story he had read in one of his many history books. 

Before the reign of the Condesce, a band of soldiers were at war across the continent. After a long and arduous voyage across the rough seas, they set foot on the new land, only to discover that the enemy’s city was walled and nigh impenetrable. Thinking quickly, a cavalreaper had suggested a sneak attack. Maybe an assassination within the walls of the city itself. Valuing the brotherhood of the legion, however, its leader took advice from one of his noble advisors. A blueblood, with an affinity for hoofbeasts (you giggled, asking if it was Zahhak’s ancestor; Eridan merely shrugged and continued) and a talent for carpentry suggested an idea that was just madcap enough to work.

A giant, wooden hoofbeast would be wheeled towards the gates of the city, as a peace offering. Twelfth perigee’s eve was coming up, after all, and the war had been fought for tens of sweeps now. Surely, the city would be grateful for such a gift.

However, there was a catch. The soldiers would be all concealed within the body of the hoofbeast. Upon the realisation that they had been wheeled into the city itself, they would open up a trapdoor beneath and spill out into the city. 

You gasped, excited to hear the rest of the story. “That must have been a _huge_ hoofbeast!” 

Thankfully, Eridan added, they didn't need to pull all of the wood off their ship. There was a forest nearby, and the soldiers managed to camp there without drawing much suspicion. Other platoons arrived and attempted to unsuccessfully capture the enemy city. Any survivors would quickly come across this camp, being absorbed into the ranks.

The hoofbeast was assembled, and thus led into the city with a peace offering, a forgery of the current Empress’ royal seal and signature. The wood itself was made to be especially hollow, and upon hearing the guards announce that the effigy was to be drawn into the communal lawnring and ceremonially burned, the soldiers all slipped out. This surprise attack proved ingenious and efficient, rather than foolish and bound to fail. Within days, the city was captured.

“And as ya can imagine,” Eridan said, climbing aboard the horse’s back as you were braiding its tail, “the Trolljan warriors didn’t expect a thing. They got what was comin’ to them, after all. They kidnapped a highblooded dame like yourself, Fef. I woulda done the same.”

You blush a little fuchsia. Eridan has developed an awful habit of flirting when it’s completely irrelevant to the conversation at hand.

Deciding to change the topic, you say: “So… how did the heroes get back? You said they had to strip some of their ship for parts before they camped in the forest.”

“Well… basically, some psionic insisted that keeping the wooden hoofbeast was a bad idea. ‘Cept, a course, nobody believed their ridiculous ramblings. Said psionic was defiled by one of the warriors on our side, and then kept as a slave for their prince, a violetblood like me after the city was completely sacked.”

“That’s horrible!” You squeak out. 

“It was a lowblood. Nobody gave two shits. Then, or now.”

Yet again, you’re going to have to change the topic of conversation. You can tell Eridan is heading towards a dark place in his psyche, and it’s your job as his moirail to shepherd him away from his more vicious impulses and thoughts.

So, you climb up on the horse behind him, looping your arms around his middle. He tenses for a moment, but relaxes into you. You chirp out a few noises, designed to comfort moirails in their time of need. 

You’d never have expected a hoofbeast constructed out of driftwood to be able to take your weight, but it holds remarkably well. Eridan is sat around the middle of its back, seated like a master of dressage. You, on the other hand, have had to swing your legs to the side to accommodate your skirt. 

Eridan can hardly believe his luck. He has the heiress apparent sat behind him, and she’s firmly in his pale quadrant.

And he would fight to the death before he let any disgusting, likely lower-blooded interloper take this away from him.


	2. Chapter 2

_He wore black and I wore white  
_ _He would always win the fight._

* * *

 

In many storytelling cultures, the forces of good are represented with light. The forces of evil are represented by the darkness, which can always worm its way into the innocent heart of the hero, if his will is not strong enough. Similarly, a villain can also be brought into the light. It’s the grey areas that are the toughest to navigate.

You and Eridan both dream on Derse, but you don’t explore it together. You now have Sollux for that task. His loose tabard flutters in the breeze as you watch over a military procession from the rooftop. You lay back against the tiles, thinking about Eridan for the first time in a long, long while.

Being made to feel completely selfish for simply looking out for your own mental health is something you rather resent. You had had to talk yourself through the break-up conversation several times, and even then, you felt completely horrible.

Eridan is hard to take care of. Harder than a cuttlefish, more difficult than even a _sea goat_ , for glub’s sake! When you first took on the job, your limited experience stunted you in knowing exactly how to be the best moirail you could be. So, you tried, harder and harder until the sheer act became physically and mentally exhausting. You added in a caveat — that the two of you would still remain friends after the break-up, and you would comfort him if needed, but just not in the way a moirail would.

You figured this could be an important wake up call, for Eridan to realise how his unpleasant personality affects those around him. Why he’s often insulted and spoken to rudely, his class on the hemospectrum meaning nothing to the list of his ‘friends’ on Trollian. He doesn’t seem to have it in him to be kind, or to respect the needs and wishes of anybody other than himself. Why should he? He was born into extreme privilege, and lives mostly alone. He rarely sees any other trolls, especially those who live on the land.  

No wonder he had come up with these horrid theories on how all land-dwellers deserve to die. He hasn’t ever bothered to even _try_ and empathise with anybody.

You seem to have been born with an overwhelming abundance of empathy. It even extends towards the little creatures who harmlessly swim around by your hive, just as well as trolls. Taking care of them is your prerogative, and you have no choice but to round them up and lock them in little cages. Keeping ‘pets’ is virtually unheard of on Alternia. So is taking on those less fortunate than yourself.

And nobody triggers your pity reflex harder than Eridan Ampora. 

When you first found him floundering around in the ocean, struggling with his gills, you helped him swim towards his hive on a deserted island. Eridan can swim, and make it quite far down in the ocean, but only for short bursts. His gills don’t seem to work quite as efficiently as yours do at converting the oxygen in the water.

He explained this to you as you swam over the waves, Eridan taking large gulps of air into his lungs, coughing and spluttering the salt water out of his mouth.

You sit up, in the water depth that reaches the gills around your middle, while Eridan ‘beaches’, crawling out of the sea like the ghost you once saw on that East Alternian horror movie. He stood up, squeezing water out of his clothes, and asked if he could have the honour of knowing the name of the only tyrianblood in all Alternia. 

You’d been surprised at that. Your lusus had brought up your blood colour in her whispers while you were dreaming, saying that you shared it with the Empress herself. Of course, you hadn’t cared for her ‘wisdom’ at the time, being such a tiny wiggler — but you had researched, and knew that the Empress had a policy in place to cull any grubs born during the cycles that exhibited your blood colour. You just had the luck to be picked by a lusus who could kill every member of your species with a psychic shockwave if you ever came to any harm. 

You had blushed, taking his hand and wobbling on your legs as you attempted to stand up on land. Of course, he caught you in his arms when you slipped, and it was like the two of you were dancing together. It was beautiful and elegant, and the smile he gave you when you looked up into his eyes was genuine — heartfelt, even.

That night, you sat in Eridan’s hive. He made cocoa, and you watched a movie together. You felt the sparks of something… well, you didn’t know what it was at the time, but you knew it was wonderful, and you wanted to be in his presence more and more. Was it because he needed coddling, or because you enjoyed his company?

You’d read about pity or hate at first sight. You did pity him for his inability to do something you took for granted, and as the night drew on, you grew to pity him even more. You learned he lived alone, and had an obsession with magic, history and FLARPing. He also seemed to have a complete apathy for the company of the other sea-dwellers in his area, forcing them back into the ocean with his trusty rifle.

You knew you were going to need an Orphaner to stop your lusus’ lamentations from growing louder. The Empress had had one, thousands of sweeps ago. When you brought this up to Eridan, he mentioned that he believed the Orphaner had actually been his ancestor. His chest puffed out with pride, and he gladly accepted the role.

It was cute, really — two wigglers playing pretend as their ancestors. Except… you didn’t even know if you were going to be able to live up to even taking up the role from the Condesce. Eridan’s had been dead for sweeps, killed by a subjugglator. (He would later tell you this was why he avoided indigobloods like the plague, and looked upon Gamzee with contempt.)

As your friendship grew, Eridan naturally became more at ease, sharing deeper secrets about himself with you. Showing off ugly sides to his personality that would have anybody else running for the hills.

And why did you put up with it for so long? 

Simple. In your naïveté, you believed you could fix Eridan, by being the sole positive influence in his life. The one person he could talk to, and who would sympathise with him. A solid anchor to a world that he despised so much, he once confessed he wished he could kill everyone lower than violet on the hemospectrum, and proudly watch the mass culling. 

It made you cry behind your goggles.

Was Eridan aware what he was doing to your emotions? If that was the case, then you simply didn’t see it. You’d endlessly justify to yourself that he didn’t mean it, he was so alone, he _wanted_ your company so desperately. That’s why he constantly asked you if you were going to leave him, his hand lingering on yours, talking about how much of a ‘catch’ you were. Sometimes, you’d log on to Trollian and find a chat-log over twenty lines long, where he was talking to himself and endlessly “poking” you, as if you weren’t paying attention to the app. 

He was needy and pathetic, and you simply didn’t see that he was using these methods to bind himself further to you. A barnacle clings to a rock for tens of sweeps, and cannot be removed by hell or high water, unless you dig your claw underneath and rip it away. 

You had to keep justifying to yourself that you were the good person in this relationship.  

Even when Eridan would accuse you of pitying him too much. You’d chirpily reply: “Well, it’s because I do pity you!” Then you’d add in a few giggly glubs, and his expression would soften, ever so slightly. Another reassurance added, to help combat Eridan’s anxieties.

This relationship was making you sick to your stomach sometimes. You worried so much about Eridan, especially when he got into his ‘moods’.

He was always willing to take more than he could ever give. Sometimes, you wished you could express this, and not wind up spending the whole night in the chat window having to go back on your words. Telling him you hadn’t mean what you said, trying to pacify him with statements about how much you really did care for him, and how he had simply caught you in a bad mood.

Eridan would visit you, of course, but complain all the time he was in your hive. Eventually, for the sake of convenience, you both decided to meet at his hive. That way, you wouldn’t have to keep bringing him up to the surface for a deep gulp of breath when he started to drown. 

But you had eventually plucked up the courage, and gotten out of this hideous, toxic relationship. Much to Eridan’s displeasure. He avoided you, and made certain that _he_ was portrayed as the good guy. He’d complain to anyone who would listen that his life was _so unfair_ and he surely didn’t deserve to be thrown out of a longterm relationship, simply because his moirail had _changed her mind_.  

He threw tantrums, like a wiggler. It made your heart wrench, as Nepeta told you about the latest horrible things he’d been saying about your breakup as he tried to flirt with the oliveblood. He lacked the ability to introspect in any way at all, to see how his behaviour had been draining on your emotional welfare, and the reasons why it had developed into a one-way moirallegiance quicker than one could blink.  

There was an old saying you knew about one door closing and another opening. And that had happened with you, extremely unexpectedly. Who would have expected a lowly psionic like Sollux to be lucky enough to have a romance blossom with a tyrianblood? You never expected to have anything in common with the expert hacker, but your pity reflex was brought into overdrive, seeinghow he was affected by Aradia’s death.

You started to explore Derse together in your dreams. Sollux had ignored Karkat’s advice to stay awake as long as possible. He needed his rest, especially when the debilitating migraines that plagued his caste made their appearance.

You expected to see Eridan around, but you didn’t. Nepeta reported that he was purposefully avoiding you. As sad as that made you feel, you knew Eridan’s behaviour patterns now. He was deliberately doing this to elicit a reaction. In the hopes that you _would_ go up to him and apologise. In his view, he had done nothing wrong, and _you_ were the terrible demon who had damned him into this lonely hell.

So, you ignored it. You had found somebody better. Somebody who considered your feelings in this relationship, who would slip his hand on top of yours to make it all okay when you got agitated. You made absolutely certain that the balance remained equal — you didn’t want to turn into Eridan, delighting in the attention, your selfishness clouding you to the fact that moirallegiance wasn’t a one way street.

You still couldn’t stop thinking about Eridan, though. In the corners of your mind, he lingered. It was almost as if he was there in person, whinging about how you had ruined his life. But he was wrong — you were in the right here, _you_ were the hero in this good/bad dichotomy. There was no grey area around it. He had strung your emotions around for years, while you had passively accepted your role as his moirail. 

You sighed, making sure to lean against Sollux, as he gritted his teeth. His headaches followed him even into the dreaming world, it seemed. 

Sollux had been told multiple times about your relationship with Eridan. It became one of the myriad number of reasons they didn’t get along, especially on the meteor. Everyone seemed to rub each other the wrong way. 

Even Gamzee — the perpetual stoner who spent most of his time laid on a horn pile declaring unseen things in his mind’s eye to be ‘miracles’ — had started to wander around the halls, muttering dark things under his breath. Equius had lost his temper with Tavros, and Vriska had looked on with something akin to glee as established friendships and other relations fell into chaos. 

You wouldn’t let it happen to you and Sollux. Never. So far, Sollux didn’t have any of the personality defects that had turned you against Eridan. He had a short temper, but always stoppered his tongue before he could fling insults towards you. He had no obsessive need for affection and attention, in the way Eridan had. Just being together with you was enough, holding hands and talking about your interests.

But, you wondered late one morning, floating in your recuperacoon… Were _you_ becoming the Eridan in your relationship with Sollux? Were you too needy? Did you try and move too fast? Were you scared of being alone now?

Eridan had done all of this to you. He had infected you, made you question whether or not the simple gestures of a moirallegiance could be construed in the same way that had made you cut him out of your life. 

You cried, even as Sollux held you comfortably in his arms in the slime, lying awake for hours.

Just questioning.

He’d gotten into your head. He’d clung to you physically before; you had never known that he’d cling on in your mind, constantly warping your sense of affection. Making you unsure of how much Sollux really pitied you, and having to constantly check, replaying the memories of the times he had held your hand, or said how much he liked you. 

But then again, you never wanted the balance to become unequal. And that was a hard thing to accomplish.

All thanks to Eridan. 


	3. Chapter 3

_Bang bang, he shot me down.  
_ _Bang bang, I hit the ground.  
_ _Bang bang, that awful sound.  
_ _Bang bang… my baby shot me down._

* * *

 

 

You were dead before you hit the horn pile.

Not that you had a lot of time to reconcile the fact you had just been murdered in cold blood. You’d been too fretful of what had just happened to Sollux. The mustard-yellow patch of blood against the wall behind his head… You’d barely had enough time to turn your fury towards Eridan before he blasted you through the thorax with his magic. Or white science. Whatever he had taken to calling it.

And so you fell onto the horn pile, a cacophonous series of honks ringing out beside you as your light was snuffed out.

Eridan’s plan had been foolish. Suicidal, even. Teaming up with a monster such as Jack Noir would never end well. You didn’t even need to ask Sollux to prophesy the outcome, or for Vriska to look in one of those dumb magic 8 balls she adored. Eridan was too blinded by arrogance to see that this would lead to his own, painful death by stabbing. As well as the death of everybody else on this meteor.

Not that they mattered to him.

Your fate was sealed the moment you rejected him, and Sollux offered to fight in your corner.

He probably had this vision in his head, the two of you serving under Jack Noir. Your relationship would not ever be the same as it was when you were both younger and less jaded. You would be two rulers, a queen and her prince regent, acting as judge, jury and executioner under Jack Noir. The demon would probably allow you just a little bit of power to sate Eridan’s appetite, and from there on in, you would be chained to their sides as you carried out mass slaughter through different galaxies and timelines.

Eridan was a spoiled wiggler. Everybody knew that. His violent temper came from years and years of that behaviour going unchecked by society, no matter how desperately you had tried to contain it with shoosh paps and feelings jams.

Terror grasped you as you realised you were now D---EAD.


	4. Chapter 4

_Seasons came and changed the time  
_ _When I grew up, I called him mine…_

* * *

 

 

One time, while resting in your recuperacoon in your hive, you envisioned your future with Eridan. Would you remain moirails forever, or would your relationship blossom into a romance?

You would… perhaps take the Empress’ title away from her. If you survived that long. There was no telling if your lusus would swing her allegiance back to the other tyrianblood she had once cared for.

Eridan might have been your advisor. Or at the very least, an admiral in the navy. Not that you wanted him to be working in either of those capacities. Not with how addled in the thinkpan he seemed to be. You wouldn’t toss him away from you like that, however. Probably declawed him.

You almost understood why the Empress was said to have viewed the Orphaner Dualscar as a clingy nuisance, constantly trying to get into her good graces. He made the foolish mistake of showing vulnerability in front of her, and in front of his kismesis. And for that, he had paid the price in blood, splattered up against the wall of a carnival tent.

Or, so the stories said.

It’s difficult these days, but you try to remember happier days with Eridan. Sitting up with him all night, on the rare days when he didn’t feel sorry for himself and take your sympathy for granted. The way he would run his fingers through your hair, and how you would hum tunelessly, and lean back into him.

The dim season changes into the dark season. Equinoxes come and go. If you lived anywhere near a forest, you would see the leaves turning brown, feel a nip in the air as one of the mild Alternian winters set in.

But all that happened as the seasons passed… was the slow realisation that your relationship was not going to blossom into what you’d envisioned in your head in your early days. Back when Eridan enjoyed courting you, utilising high-blooded etiquette to set your heart a-flutter. Back before he started to abuse your emotions and take from you more than he was ever willing to give.


	5. Chapter 5

_He would always laugh and say,  
_ _Remember when we used to play?_

 

* * *

 

Although Eridan has taken to avoiding you since you broke off the relationship, he occasionally tries to wheedle his way back to you. Usually through a third party.

Sometimes it’s Kanaya who delivers the message. Other times, it’s Nepeta. You’d think the two of them would get angry with Eridan at some point, and tell him to stop using them as some kind of odd postal service.

At least Vriska was none the wiser. You couldn’t bear to think of her laughing at your misfortune. Or cruelly teasing Eridan until he went fully over the edge. She had bigger - er - fish to fry. Or irons in the fire. Whatever expression she had taken to using lately. If obsessing over a human boy and his terrible taste in films was something she considered important. 

Nepeta’s tail flickers as she does her best to remember the message. She once told you Eridan cornered her, went on an incredibly long ramble about how unlucky he was in love, and then asked her to tell you that he wanted to hang out and reminisce on the good times. He’d also asked her out on a date, at which point, Equius had shown up behind him. (You giggle at the mental image of that, Eridan scurrying away at the sight of Nepeta’s imposing moirail.)

You’d fallen asleep and decided to explore Derse. That option was preferable to sitting in some secluded room on the meteor as Eridan spilled some more w(h)ine. 

You did play with him, once upon a time. You made sand sculptures, walked around Eridan’s island, went swimming in the shallow waters, and read books to each other. (Well, you’d order your books to be delivered to Eridan’s address, usually. There’s no accounting for whether or not the delivery drone will remember to waterproof the package, leaving you with a soaking wet stack of paper.) Eridan would recommend you some great tome of troll history, even going as far as to know precisely which academics presented the best accounts.

“This guy presents the most pussyfooted, _neutered_ account of the battle I have ever seen,” you recall Eridan complaining. “But, you said the last book we read together was too violent. So I’ll just inform you about the missing parts while we’re reading this one.”

You awaken to a loud knocking on your recuperacoon. (You’d decided to ignore Karkat’s silly orders — you simply cannot function on less than a few hours of sleep.) Kanaya’s hand draws away, and she trots out a simple apology before you assure her it’s all right.

“Ampora wished for your company. He asked me to tell you.”

“Ugh.”

Kanaya blinks. “Am I correct in assuming that you wish for me to go back and tell him that you do not wish to see him?”

You wave your hand, climbing up out of the slime. “I _hate_ that I’m seen as the bad guy here!” Your voice always pitches up at the end of your sentences — and you have to take Kanaya’s arm immediately to reassure her that you didn’t mean to sound snappish. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it is quite all right,” Kanaya says, her voice clipped and careful as ever. “I think we are all exasperated by Ampora, in some form or another.”

“Try being me,” you say, and it comes out as pouting.

Kanaya probably cannot help but pity you. She retrieves a towel from the nearby rail, helping wipe some of the slime off of your body and out of your hair. You squeeze her hand gently when she finishes.

“What did Eridan have to say? Other than wanting to meet with me.”

Kanaya replaces the towel. “We might be here a while. I shall supply you with the condensed edition.”

“Okay.”

“Eridan complained for what felt like many hours. But generally, he reminisced upon the ‘good old days’ when you two were stably in the pale quadrant together. The times you would play and gallivant. I believe he thinks a transformation has taken place in you almost over the day, and that you are now a changed troll.”

You scoff. “He’s being so ridiculous!” 

“He was brought to laughter by some of the anecdotes. And honestly, I almost could not help but share in his enthusiasm at times. But it seemed the more I did, the more… well… I hope it was not a trick of the light, but I did glimpse a few tears gathering at the corners of his gander bulbs.”

“Oh, no…” That makes you pity him again. It’s a confusing evening — and it’s only just started.

“He recalled one evening after an exhausting day of hunting creatures to feed your lusus. The two of you were so tired from swimming that you simply cuddled in the shallow waters. This then descended into a splash fight.”

You distinctly remember. It was only around two summers ago, after all. After you finished giggling and flicking water at each other, Eridan had pecked you on the cheek, carrying you into his hive and laying you down on the couch, snuggling up for a marathon of movies. One of the rare moments you can remember where he was a decent troll, and not an emotionally exhausting load for you to carry.

Kanaya continues. It seems that Eridan has divulged every single one of his memories of you two being together, putting a positive spin onto even the more mundane moments. Kanaya’s politeness and strong pity reflex had made her stay, and Eridan had taken advantage of that. Maybe he just needed somebody to rant to, for lack of a proper moirail on this meteor.  

You hate how you keep reflexively justifying his behaviour. 


End file.
